Chapter Seven
Lust roared throughAsh.
Pru was kissing him.
Her mouth was on his. Those soft, sweet, seductive lips he had been denied yesterday in the gardens. The lips he could not stop thinking about. The lips that tormented him in his sleep and his every fantasy. Berry-pink and supple. Plump and tempting.
Thoselips were moving against his, with a tentative ardor that undid him.
He had kissed dozens of women in his tenure as a rakehell. But he had never before experienced a kiss that seduced him. He had always been the seducer. He had been in control. He had been the one to deepen the kiss, to angle his head.
But Pru grabbing him, taking the reins, kissing him first…
It was…
Bloody fucking hell, it was the most delicious, wicked, sensual moment of his entire life. If he walked out the door of this damned feigned ruin and an ill-placed stone promptly fell on his head, he would die a happy man for this one kiss. This one moment with her.
But because there was no ill-placed stone forthcoming, and since he was a greedy bastard when it came to Pru Winter, he never wanted this to end. Her tongue was in his mouth, tentatively seeking, and he could not keep from groaning in satisfaction. Nor could he keep from kissing her back with everything he had.
All the finesse, all the ardor, every rakish trick and technique he had ever learned—he employed them now. Because something had occurred to him this morning as he had ridden away from Gill and Lord Aylesford. And it was that he could not bear to see her married to his brother.
Because she was his.
Prudence Winter washis, damn it, and he was going to make her realize the truth, one way or another. And he was going to be the one to marry her. Yes, he bloody well was. If he ever wanted to have more than the income allotted him, and if he ever wanted to have children of his own—a not entirely terrible thought, though he was not certain he wanted the little vagabonds now—he was going to have to wed.
Why not her?
Why not this woman, whose ice turned to sensual, sumptuous fire in his arms?
If it had to be someone, why not the only one who had ever affected him thus? The only one who had ever shaken him to his core? The only one who kissed him as if her very life depended upon it?
He had meant to relay at least half as much to her. To see what she thought of the merit of a proper courtship in deed rather than in lesson. But he had taken one look at her, standing there by the settee, her cheeks rosy from her walk through the cold, wisps of her dark hair curling around her lovely face, and he had forgotten all his good intentions.
Just as he was forgetting them now. Because he was filling his hands with her bottom. One hand on each full, luscious cheek. He cupped them, gave them a gentle squeeze, and drew her even nearer. All the way to his body, until they were pressed together in most indecent, delicious fashion, from hip to chest. Until his cock was buried in the promising curves of her body.
His aching, hard cockstand—the same one he had been sporting in her presence from the second he had first laid eyes on her. He kissed her deeper, moving his tongue against hers, and tasted her. She was so sweet. Her scent was all around him, lush summer blooms, brightness and life and beauty.
Her arms wound around his neck, anchoring him to her. And she was making the sweetest sounds. Little, desperate mewls. He wondered if her nipples were hard. If her cunny was wet.
And then, he banished all thoughts. He decided he did not care. All he did care about was getting more of the woman in his arms. He was ravenous for her. Starved for her, and he could not get enough.
He wanted to give her pleasure.
To make her spend.
Now that he had decided she would be his, a sudden, forceful rush of need washed over him. He was a slave to that desire. To the woman in his arms. He wanted to kiss and lick and touch her everywhere. To learn her body, her needs. To discover what made her wild. He was bursting with the hunger, the curiosity.
Ash tore his lips from hers and ran his open, hungry mouth down the creamy column of her throat. She was even softer here. Even more delicate and feminine. He stopped to worship over the place where her pulse fluttered madly beneath his lips. Here was the purest evidence of her life, that steady thrum, and he was grateful, so grateful for it, forher.
He reluctantly released her rump, searching for something else. He required greater access to her, more skin, more everything. Her gown’s fastenings were in the back. He found them with ease and began plucking the buttons, one by one.
“Ash,” she whispered.
The sigh of his name in her voice was enough to send another arrow of need pulsing through him. Now he had a different problem entirely, the problem of controlling himself and going far enough without going too far and taking her. Because he would not do that.
“Pru,” he said, kissing her throat, paying homage to every part of her he could land his mouth upon. All the way to her ear, where he caught the fleshy lobe between his teeth. He licked the whorl, ran his tongue behind it, then back down her neck as she sighed so sweetly.
There was such appreciation in her tone. She was deliciously responsive. In his arms, no seasoned courtesan could hold a candle to her. She was seducing him. Thoroughly. Making him realize that he was hers every bit as much as she was his. Her hands were traveling over him as well, moving over his shoulders, down his arms. And bloody hell, but her tentative caresses made his cock twitch with appreciation.
